


You're Not Doing It Right

by poetic_nonsense



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, cheesy Star Wars reference because I'm a dork, take as much or as little of canon as you want!, this is still pretty canon-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 23:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10450452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense
Summary: She wrapped her arms around Charlotte in brisk, businesslike fashion, and a strong burst of surprise leaked from Charlotte, who struggled a bit, half-hearted in her shock.“Erika--”“Shut up, Charlotte,” said Erika, gathering her closer.It worked.------------------In which Erika tires of watching, and decides to take things into her own hands.If you want something done right, after all, you have to do it yourself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeahhhh, this was a one-nighter.
> 
> I’ve had the sense/concept of the first paragraph’s content for a couple months now, and then two nights ago I was settling down to sleep and my writing ability whacked me across the head and told me, “Wake up, you need to write this now.”
> 
> I said, “Where the hell have _you_ been, you rat bastard?”
> 
> Then I said, “Okay, I’ve written a few paragraphs and that’s lovely, but I really ought to get some sleep now.”
> 
> It was around this point that my brain informed me that it would not be sleeping, and I should write the story in the meantime because it was going to be a long night.
> 
> Have you ever been outnumbered in your own head???

It took a while for Erika to figure it out, that Charlotte sought to help others when she needed help herself.  That when she needed to be held, she held one of the children instead.  When she needed to cry, she let one of them clamber onto her lap and cry against her own shoulder.  In the dark of the night, when she felt that the world was collapsing in around her, she ventured out into the hallway to guide someone through a nightmare and back to the peaceful rest that she couldn’t find herself.  When she wasn’t sure that anything at all was okay, she stroked one of the students’ hair and told them that everything was.  That she cared for others at least partially because she couldn’t take care of herself, that she sought to provide for them what she couldn’t bring herself to ask for.

Once she had noticed, Erika did her best to keep it to herself.  As far as coping mechanisms went, it was far from the worst Erika had seen, and it seemed to do genuine good for the students who arrived at the Xavier School with scars, physical or mental, who had never known a real family or-- worse-- who had seen them every day, for the normal children, and then gone home to silences and admonishments, reminders to hide.  Besides, Charlotte was a grown woman, headmistress of her own school and humanitarian activist when she wasn’t covered in children or syllabi; she didn’t need Erika hanging around her worriedly, just because Erika happened to love her with a deep and long-settled acceptance.  She tried to settle for casting a few more glances Charlotte’s way than usual, half-mindedly keeping a sense of her watch and the spokes of her chair on days when she exhibited the tendency to counsel and keep close.

But it was late March: Westchester was in the finishing stages of thawing and moving toward something warmer and more gold-hued; Charlotte, Raven, and Hank had been vetting new students for the coming year, but they seemed to have cleaned out the U.S. population of school-age mutant children; and the kids here had mostly had their more significant issues soothed and worked and talked out by Charlotte.  All good things, these-- but it meant that Charlotte had less to grasp onto, when she needed someone to hold her steady but couldn’t ask.

Enough was enough, Erika thought finally, watching over her newspaper as Charlotte cuddled a slightly squirming Ororo closer than was strictly necessary to read _The Little Prince_ in the pool of lamplight, the 110-year-old watch shaking minutely even as she fussed with the seven-year-old’s lacy collar.  The time for passive support was past.  She shucked aside the paper and stood, crossing the room without a word and extricating the little girl from bewildered arms.

“Why don’t you go play with your big sister now, Ororo,” Erika murmured, setting her down and handing her the book.  Snowy pigtails bobbed for the nearest set of doors with a “K, bye Pr’fessor!” and set off down the halls in search of Jean.

Bobby made eye contact from over by the television set and mouthed a silent message of thanks.

“Erika, what are you--”  Charlotte’s voice was shaking almost imperceptibly too.  Erika grabbed her hand and started for the door.  Charlotte sputtered and reached across herself to the power controls for her chair, but Erika didn’t slow down.

Raven made no secret that she’d been watching, yellow eyes flicking over regularly from the corner where she and Hank sat cross-checking the History and Literature reading lists, and she gave Erika a curt, meaningful nod.  Erika returned the gesture, and focused on dragging her charge upstairs, ignoring her indignant protestations.

“Erika, really, _what_ is going on?  Perhaps if you’d just tell me, I could-- wait just a damned minute, would you?”

The chair was falling behind; Erika seized it with her power and sped up the process to suit her determined stride, without so much as a glance or a murmur Charlotte’s way.

“ _Erika!_  That’s incredibly rude, and you know it.  Either tell me what’s going on or stop that this instant.”

“If you really want me to let go, you can make me,” said Erika, and it wasn’t just an observation or a reminder.  It had implication of an offer in it, both because they’d been friends for so long and because this had to be Charlotte too, she had to have an out.

She didn’t take it; instead she made an irate sound and the hand in Erika’s went lax.  Erika tightened her own grip and continued marching resolutely down the hall to Charlotte’s room.  Charlotte made an offended noise when Erika let herself in in a businesslike manner, but didn’t press it while Erika shut the door and the curtains with her power and strode to the bedside, pulling Charlotte along with her.

She positioned the chair easily in the right position by the bed, and crossed her arms, looking at Charlotte for the first time since they’d left the family room.  “Transfer.”

Charlotte’s eyes were steely and more than a little scared.  “I _beg_ your pardon?”

Erika narrowed her eyes, refusing to budge.  “Transfer _now_ , Charlotte.”

Charlotte looked to be readying herself for a fight-- but something in Erika’s gaze must have convinced her otherwise, because she gave an exasperated growl and did as Erika asked.

Once she was in place, Erika clambered onto the bed too, placing herself behind Charlotte and to the left, tucking a folded leg behind her colleague while Charlotte looked at her in confusion.  Then she wrapped her arms around Charlotte in brisk, businesslike fashion, and a strong burst of _surprise_ leaked from Charlotte, who struggled a bit, half-hearted in her shock.

“Erika--”

“Shut up, Charlotte,” said Erika, gathering her closer.

It worked.  Charlotte went cooperatively, obviously still stunned, and lay with her head tucked under Erika’s chin, while Erika rubbed soothing circles over her back.  They stayed like that for several quiet minutes, until Charlotte’s increasingly ragged breaths started to become quiet little hitches, and the trembling in the fingers propped against Erika’s stomach began to become more pronounced.  Erika could tell when Charlotte noticed it too, because she stiffened, and then she was fighting to get away, voice choking on aborted protests, and Erika only held her tighter, letting her struggle all she wanted while strangled gasps turned into sobs.

The only reason Erika let go at all was to thread an arm under Charlotte’s knees and rearrange her into a better position, so she didn’t have to twist around to bury her face against Erika’s collarbone, and soon it was back in place firmly around Charlotte’s back.

Erika closed her eyes and let her head tilt back as she listened to the quiet weeping, because this was difficult enough without feeling a storm of conflicting _needed so badly, how did I last this long?_ and _don’t, oh please don’t let go_ and guilt and shame and bright, unutterable _relief_ , all pouring from one small, person-sized science professor, shaking and overwrought and completely breaking apart, falling to pieces in Erika’s arms.

Then it was remembering, the tiny thought _could I have had this all this time?_ and the aching memory of cold long nights, when the world was far too large and she couldn’t see anything but her own failures, and the unshakable instinct that there must be someone beside her, near her, and the intellectual certainty that there wasn’t one.  Dizziness.  And the sneaking, gradual oncoming of _why now-- why at all?-- she can’t want to see me like this_ , and then everything else fell away; Charlotte’s mind turned the question over and over, without remembering what the words meant.

Erika ran her fingers through Charlotte’s hair, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and sent, with all the proof and conviction she could muster, _because I love you_.  She felt not a shred of guilt over hiding it up until this point, nor a second’s hesitation over revealing it now.  There was absolutely nothing to suggest that her feelings were returned in more than a platonic sense, but Erika was certain that knowing it would help Charlotte now, and if they weren’t to be returned, surely that was the point of her having them in the first place?

There was a brief mental silence, a choked, watery laugh, and then the staggering combined force of Charlotte having two very different emotional reactions at once: a stunned, breathless _I love you too_ , and _dear God,_ _why_ _?_

Erika was distantly aware that she ought to be having a bigger emotional reaction-- disbelief, maybe, or joy, or perhaps only numbness for a while-- but that could wait.  She pulled Charlotte tighter against her, only loose enough that she didn’t jar Charlotte’s back or crush the hands fisted in Erika’s shirt.  She knew bits of Charlotte’s childhood-- she knew that Charlotte’s father had died, and that Charlotte hadn’t been enough to keep her mother from seeking out every toxin she could find.  She knew that however much Charlotte had come to understand Raven’s decision to leave, those years ago, however much she didn’t blame or resent her, she had felt hurt, abandoned, terrified, when her sister had left her behind.  She knew that Charlotte would always battle against the fear that _she wasn’t enough_ , that she would have to bribe the people in her life to stay, would have to convince them by being ever smarter, more reliable, more stolid.  That she had to keep _earning_ it.

 _Because_ , Erika showed her.  ‘Because’ was enough.  Because love was something that either was or it wasn’t.  Because she was Charlotte.   _Because you love chess and Tchaikovsky.  Because your favorite thing to read when it’s raining is Tolkien, and your favorite thing to read to Warren is C. S. Lewis.  Because you laugh just as hard at Alex’s dirty jokes as you do at Raven’s literary satire.  Because I met you being dragged half-blind with rage from the ocean and you thought ‘I’ve finally found you.’  Because you find good things, you accomplish something, and then you look at the world and you want to_ _try_ _._

Charlotte sobbed harder, as though she couldn’t bear to hear it, and clutched Erika more tightly, hands moving to her back, as though she couldn’t bear to ever let this stop.  

Erika’s grip shifted, so that one hand was free to stroke Charlotte’s back while the other arm remained curled like a band of steel around Charlotte’s ribs, letting the wracking shudders run their course.  Charlotte had to work it all out, now-- there was no stopping halfway.  So Erika brushed her cheek against Charlotte’s forehead and went on, _I love you because of the things you never had to work to be, that you couldn’t stop being if you tried.  Everything--_ _everything_ _else is just extra._

There was a choked, quiet little cry, and Erika watchedlistenedfelt as Charlotte’s mind attempted to comprehend this and found almost immediately that it couldn’t.  _How_ could Erika feel so deeply, so certainly, about her?  How could Erika find such innate worth in her?  Where had Erika looked, what had she found, that no one had ever done?  Because Charlotte _understood_ ; the way she felt for Erika was a slow, bright pulse of a thing, buried deeply into the bedrock of Charlotte’s being and stemming from the core of Erika’s, and the thought that Erika could feel the same way about her was terrifying.  It was joy and terror intertwined, because if she did she must have seen something, something Charlotte hadn’t seen herself, and that changed everything, and she wasn’t sure she could take it.

Erika held her through it, rocking her gently like she was little Kitty, frightened of the thunder, and slowly the panic wore itself out, settled into a soft sense of reflection and awe, a dim spark of something that might, in time, grow to be acceptance, and a slowly surfacing warmth, while the sobbing slowed and petered into fine trembling and deep quiet breaths.

Eventually Charlotte sniffled and lifted her head a bit, testing out her voice, which had gone crackly around the edges.  “Sorry, I’ve got snot all down your shirt.”

Erika shifted about and cradled Charlotte back in so her head lay against a dry patch.  “The shirt was begging to be snotted.  Really, what sort of self-entitled imbecile wears a maroon button-up shirt?”

Charlotte laughed a little, wetly, and drew back just a touch to try to neaten herself.  “I’ve been meaning to say, maroon looks good on you.”

Erika snorted, and Charlotte grinned.  “You don’t say.”

Silence drifted back in, edges soft, and Erika’s thumb kept rubbing circles on Charlotte’s right shoulder blade.  “We can stay here, like this,” Erika offered.

Charlotte dragged in a deep breath and stirred.  “No, I suppose we’d better get back downstairs.  We’ve got plenty of time, later.  Unless you’d rather stay?”

Erika was getting up, getting out of the way so that Charlotte could transfer back to her chair, and she was reveling a little in _later_ , so the delivery of her response didn’t quite measure up to her usual standard.  “Certainly not.  I do actually have essays to go over, you know.  I’m not just here to be your love toy.”

That earned a grin and a helpless little laugh from Charlotte, who had grabbed a tissue and was cleaning up her face.  When she had finished, and brushed lightly against Erika’s mind to check that there was nothing out-of-place save for somewhat reddened eyes, Erika swung the somewhat grandiose door open by its brass knob and gestured ‘after you’ with a sweep of her arm.

Charlotte wheeled up to the door, but instead of passing through, she slipped her fingers into the front placket of Erika’s shirt and used it to drag her down into a warm, impossibly familiar first kiss.  Erika was certain they were both too emotionally drained for fireworks, but something fizzled in Erika’s mind anyway at the firm pressure of Charlotte’s slightly chapped lips on hers.  The kiss carried on for two moments, three, and then Charlotte was releasing her, drawing back so Erika unbent a little but was still looking deeply into her eyes.

“I love you,” said Erika.

Charlotte grinned wide.  “ _I know_.”  Her eyebrows waggled.

Erika made a noise in the back of her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a growl, and straightened up.  “Get out,” she said, suppressing the urge to cuff Charlotte on the back of the head.

“You can’t kick me out of my own room!” Charlotte protested, but there was laughter in it.

“Can’t I?”  Erika waved her fingers, and Charlotte’s wheelchair rolled out into the hallway, Erika following and closing the door behind her.

 _You utter bastard_ , Charlotte censured, the thought softened by warm fondness.   _Go change your shirt while I head down; returning separately will help keep the natives from getting suspicious._

Erika let her hand brush over Charlotte’s shoulder, her presence brush over Charlotte’s mind, and turned to stalk down the hall in the direction of her room.  Ahead, the window at the end of the hall was casting the last of the evening light across a painting Jean had done when she was eleven; behind her, Charlotte was admonishing Sean for setting a bad example for the students, stampeding through the house like that, and no, he still didn’t get to be school chaplain, and anyway where _were_ the student progress reports for the maths classes that he was supposed to have given in last week?

Erika felt a strange tightness thrum through the region of her diaphragm, and however much still needed fixing, however much still needed to change, there was, in that second, something intensely _right_ with the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be thrilled to hear whatever thoughts you might care to share with me about my work! Thanks for reading!


End file.
